


Parallels {the world is out to get us}

by balconys



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Tragedy, M/M, Realization, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balconys/pseuds/balconys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fate is a jerk who calls the shots, they try to find themselves a loophole, and Aomine learns that sometimes, just maybe, you gotta learn to fight back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallels {the world is out to get us}

**_Parallels_ **

{the world is out to get us}

 

**x**

 

This is how it begins.

 

Beneath dead waves and a blistering sun there is a boy who collects treasures from the ocean floor. Well, that is, it’s what he likes to think anyway – he likes to imagine that the rusting pocket watches and spoons and coins half-eaten with algae and the ever-so-rare earring he finds come from treasure chests of unmindful pirates, spilling from their ships in the overflow and swept into the arms of the seas, long forgotten and left to sleep forever in its depths. Aomine – that’s the name, the one from the rumors that tell of a fish that likes to linger near boats to steal food and clothes and even paddles from unfortunate sailors – has never been a romantic, but he likes the thought, so whatever.

 

It’s been a week since he was found out, got caught in one of the fishing nets and couldn’t untangle himself until he’s forced to bring his head out of the water for the big reveal. One of the men brings him home, gripping the cuff of his shirt a little too tight, the look on his face when he tells his father the news a little too happy. _What can I say? He’s hopeless,_ his father looks sheepish, promises to straighten him out. Once the door slams shut he whips around and staggers close, his breath like a toxic grave. _Get out of my house_ , he snarls. And Aomine does. Happily, in fact.

 

Beneath dead waves and a blistering sun there is a boy who collects treasures from the ocean floor. Quite the collection he has now; a complete set of silverware, fractured on the edges but _still_ , two pocket watches, three coins, a shard of pink glass, an earring, a Japanese flag, and so on and so forth. One day, he thinks, maybe after the war ends he’d sell them to buy to a boat and escape this miserable patch of land. But as he comes up for air the wind rips right through him, and somehow it sounds a bit like laughter, taunting. Aomine pauses, bobbing along with rise and fall. Then he plunges into the surface once again, lost to the waves for days.

Something happens today however. When Aomine glides down to touch the bottom, twisting upright and pushing against the soles of his feet to slowly drift back up and finds himself looking directly into the eyes of an illusion, it is so unexpected and startling that he almost drowns then and there as he _screams_ underwater, violently kicking to the reach the surface. He finds leverage on a rock jutting out of the harbor’s waters, and he hauls himself up, coughing, coughing.

 

A head breaks the surface. A salute. “Hey.”

 

And there it is. If you tried you would hear it: the gears and cogs of time halting, shifting, clicking into place. Winding in the same interval. Fate scoffing at the convergence.

 

Aomine stares. Blinks at this boy rising from the depths, golden and beautiful and so very unreal.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” are the first words that come leaking from his mouth.

 

“Did I scare you?” comes the reply, easy as the smile curving across his lips. Aomine watches as the boy paddles over, sort of awkwardly as if all the bones of his body are disjointed and loose beneath his skin, and plants himself on a square of pocked rock beside him. He is wearing nothing but boxers, but he is bold and fearless and Aomine feels violated, just a little bit. “I did, didn’t I? Haha, oops. I’m Kise. What’s your name?”

 

Aomine pauses, wonders if he should tell this weirdo, but, hey, what the hell. “Aomine. And I wasn’t scared, dumbass. You just- shocked me, is all.”

 

“Liar,” Kise replies, singsong, and shakes his head like some dog. “You sure were. Hey, you live around here? Any siblings? Your father must be out on the field, huh? Hey how old are you? I’m twelve. I’m really hungry right now. My fingers are all wrinkly too. Hey, what’s that?”

 

Aomine has to blink to process the sudden onslaught of questions and realize that Kise is staring pointedly at the glinting object peeking out of his pocket. Hastily, he shoves it down deeper. “Not telling you.”

 

“Aw, stingy! Why not?”

 

“Because,” he frowns. “What are you doing here anyway? No one comes around here. It’s not allowed.”

 

“Then why are _you_ here huh?”

 

“Because,” he repeats, the pinpricks of annoyance settling on his skin. “Nobody will catch me, and I don’t care if they do, so it doesn’t matter anyway. If the mayor finds you here—“

 

“I don’t care,” Aomine is surprised by the sudden austerity in his voice. “I don’t care what that old man says.” The boy named Kise has eyes that are hard magma; after a while, they thaw into light. “But whatever. I always wanted to learn to swim, so I came here!” And at that, he throws himself back into the coolness of the sea, his golden little head disappearing into the foam. A second later his hand breaches the surface, and he rolls into his back, grin as wide as the sky and soaking up the salt and sea and sunshine, and it’s then that Aomine finally _sees_ it – _there_ , the silhouette transparent in the water – a missing leg, the left one; the stranger didn’t even try to hide it in the first place and he wonders why he didn’t notice something so evident and _oh. oh fuck_.

 

Apparently Kise notices, and his smile falters, just for a fraction of a second before brightening in a thrice, tight but there, sort of like he’s familiar with the reaction and had been expecting it sooner or later anyway. Still afloat on his back, he grips the stump under the water. “This thing? Well, it’s kind of a long story,” Kise laughs weakly. “Can’t really walk without help, can’t run, can’t catch up with people. So, then I thought: hey, if I can’t walk, then I’ll swim!” A laugh, and the boy makes a little avalanche of water. Aomine sits quietly on his lonely rock. “And I love it! The sea is amazing. Swimming is amazing. It’s like a different kind of flying, you know?”

 

Aomine watches him move around in the water, at loss for words, throat tight. Watches as he dunks down and spirals back up, babbling on and on about trivialities, but all Aomine really notices is the way he sort of flails his arms around, jerking his feet and kicking uselessly into the deep.

 

“Wow, that’s really pathetic,” he blurts out.

 

But Kise just laughs, too big, too bright.

 

Aomine can’t look away.

 

He makes up his mind. “That ain’t swimming,” he slides back into the waters and kicks from the rock behind him. “I’ll teach you. Here - watch.”

 

And that’s how it begins. The rock becomes their meeting place of sorts, and it’s there that Aomine bleeds out all of his knowledge, teaching him how to glide, to move through the water without using your arms, to hold your breath for minutes and play dead . . . from dawn to dusk, until the skin on the pads of their fingertips are cold and transparent and are sagging far, far past the point of return, and it’s not too long either before Kise glides and soars and slinks in the water like he’s part-fish with invisible gills and slips happily in stroke with Aomine. And Aomine, well, he can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this wide or laughed this loud; one day he points a finger at one of the rock formations far off in the horizon, smirking, _see that? That’s the Drowning Sailor. If you say you’re better than me you’d have to reach that. Then I’ll acknowledge you._ It looks like a desperate man with his head half-submerged, his arm straining out of the waters, almost alive even by how it wavers and shifts like a hazy memory but Kise just grins, the sun in his eyes, and says, with all the blinding self-assurance of a twelve-year old, _sure why not? I’ll kick your ass anytime._

But not now. Right now Kise finally breaks him, and Aomine finally surrenders, shows him the top-secret place where he hoards his prized collections. Chest warm, body light, he watches as Kise’s eyes light up with each and every trinket he lifts out of the sand, watching as he takes the silver knife from his hands and turns it in the moonlight, the rusting edges glinting and _yeah, that’s the one, the one the princess of the East used to eat her dinner,_ and, _this over here belonged to a pirate. Pretty damn stupid though, plucked it right outta his chubby little fingers - you want it?_ And they would go on like that, long into the dregs of the day until Aomine would remember his good-for-nothing drunkard of a father and quietly leave a slumbering Kise to slip away into the night, smile etched on his face, and nobody would have to know of the beautiful, golden boy in the sea he spent his days with.

And it’s alright if Kise doesn’t like to tell him the story behind the piece of himself that he’s lost, because Aomine has uncovered enough mystery from this boy himself; he knows for a fact that he is, quite definitely, the burgermeister’s illegitimate son that only seemed to exist in whispers, the alleged one-legged disaster that almost tore the esteemed family apart. He knows enough of rumors to weigh truth from fiction, and it’s just fair, he thinks, to know just this much. Because when Kise looks at him it’s as if the boy sees through every wall he built for himself, looks directly at his core and keeps him there, and honestly nothing in the whole wide world makes him more terrified.

 

Days seep into weeks, and then into months. Still, as with all things, Aomine keeps Kise at a comfortable distance, and leaves him scrambling for him in the deep. But, as with all things just as well, Kise has never been one to stay toeing the line, and one day sprawled on their rock, sometime between dusk and the black of night there is a kind of fire in the specks of his irises when he looks at him directly and kisses him.

 

Aomine shoves him away, wide-eyed; he doesn’t know what to do – Kise has an unreadable look on his face, there on his back – his chest is constricting and his lips are on fire, but he is twelve and scared and stupid and so he whips around and stalks away, leaving Kise on the sand.

 

Aomine doesn’t return for a week.

 

And then the planes come.

 

The sea had almost made him forget about the war. Halfway into sleep, he’s pulled almost immediately out of it when a he hears the panicked staccato beat on their door. _It’s a raid, the planes are coming! There is a shelter six houses down, come quickly, please!_

In the dark bowels of the basement Aomine finds himself crushed between people from all over the village, fear heavy in the air, heart hammering in his chest. Someone somewhere is choking out a lullaby. Time spirals down, down, faster and faster, everything changing so suddenly that all he can think of is _Kise, Kise, where the hell are you?_ Wait. He pauses. Swallows. _Where_ is _he?_ Seated at the middle of the shifting masses is the burgermeister himself, plump and imposing and sweating too much, far too much. Before he knows it Aomine is standing before him, face inches from his. _Where is Kise._ The man’s eyes dilate as they settle on him, but then he composes himself easily. _And who are you?_ Aomine ignores him. _Didn’t you hear me? Where. Is. Kise._ Aomine’s fists are trembling at his side. Around him everything melds into a gray blur, as he waits for the burgermeister to answer him. _I said,_ he says, near-shouting, _where the fuck is your son?_

 

The room hushes. The man’s eyes are wide, so impossibly wide, and then, slowly, they fall to the side. _I,_ he mutters, lines hard on his forehead, _I don’t know what you’re talking about._

No. No. A curse explodes on his tongue. He swallows a shuddering breath – if he’s not here, then he’s outside, but where could be? Think think . . . his mind backtracks, and he sees Kise’s grin, feels the sand and tastes the sea, and just beyond their reach there it is, the Drowning Sailor, a haughty challenge – and Aomine’s breath dies in his throat.

 

 _No, no, please tell me you didn’t,_ and then he’s scrambling up the stairs, people reaching out to him, grabbing him, but he’s throwing them off until they give up on the rabid kid who wants to get himself killed. He hears his father shouting for him, maybe, but he’s already out and sprinting through the streets, the last of the warning sirens wailing in his ears. _Come back,_ he screams into the roiling darkness when he reaches the shore. _Fuck you, Kise! Where are you?_

 

The waves don’t answer him. Their rock sits there just off the shore, immovable, empty. Between sky and sea the Sailor perpetually flails for air.

 

 _I’ll find you!_ he promises the wind. _You hear me? I’ll find you, and when I do, I’ll kick your ass!_

 

The bombs fall like rain that day.

 

Aomine emerges from the detritus, half-alive.

 

He never does find him.

 

This is the first parallel. And it will be the last. They are never meant to be together, and their names will never be written on the same page by Fate’s hand. For the next cascade of lifetimes their points will find each other but never cross, and they will chase each other but never meet, and so it will be, as it was dictated, forevermore.

 

**x**

 

In the next life, Aomine is a black panther, wild and magnificent and on the prowl underneath a blistering African sun. The bones beneath its dark glossy hide shift and slink, languid, as he crouches low behind tall grass to eye its prey.

 

It’s a little child.

 

Aomine’s fur bristles, irrepressibly, glassy eyes on the morsel that had just wandered into its forest. The child – no more than five, six – totters on, mud caked around his tiny ankles, completely unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. Closer, closer – the little boy’s eyes are bright when they finally spot the beast just before him, its tail _whooshing_ back and forth, back and forth.

 

“Kitty!” Kise cries, tiny hands reaching towards it. Takes one step closer into the grass-

 

Aomine pounces, and his fangs bury themselves the child’s pale, warm neck. _Snap_.

 

**x**

 

Next, in some obscure corner of the universe, Aomine sits on a marble throne and holds a mammoth mass of five hundred soldiers of the tribe in the palm of his hand. Strong and inimitable and blessed with the kind of wealth men could only dream of, he has everything he could ever possibly want.

 

But he is so dreadfully _bored_.

 

His toys and tools have long lost their luster, as well as all the little festivals his people have held for him; not even his Queen, whose exotic pink beauty was second to none, could rouse him from his lethargy, and so every night he drowns himself in wine and skin and hips and teeth. But he is never quite satisfied and every morning when the light slants through the cotton curtains and burns his eyes all he wants to do is drown in his bed. And then he does it all over again.

 

But tonight when his whores come to his bedroom dripping with silken sheets of dark purples and bright yellows, his eyes are drawn inexplicably to the figure hovering at the back. _You_ , he says, and waves out the rest, _just you._ He doesn’t know what is possessing him, but when the person comes into the light to reveal golden hair and strong shoulders and amber eyes, he realizes he doesn’t really care.

 

He is so very beautiful. With practiced ease Aomine plucks the man’s strings and makes him arch and shudder beneath his palm; it’s slow and intoxicating and he wonders why every touch doesn’t feel as empty as he’s used to. When they finally finish, his hand moves in its own accord and brushes his cheek, fingertips catching the edge of the silk veil around his mouth that, as a rule, prevented lowly whores from speaking – and without a further thought, he slips it off and kisses him.

 

It’s only when the man takes his clothes and scurries away that Aomine realizes both of them were crying.

 

And he doesn’t know why.

 

The next morning, he immediately calls a search for the man with the gilded hair and eyes. Oh, but what a shame, what a shame. He has long gone into the night, and he will never return. _Took a caravan to the west, the fool wanted to cross the desert by himself,_ his men tell him. Later in the night Aomine lies back in a cold, empty bed, and he really, really needs a drink.

 

A rushing wind giggles past, rustling the curtains.

 

**x**

 

In the next parallel, their points just barely snag; Aomine wears a full coat and tie which he loosens in his rearview mirror as he sweats and sweats inside a heady Land Cruiser – he’s on his way to a friend’s wedding, but one asshole decided to overtake him seconds from a red light and now he’s been stuck in this stupid congested road for fifteen minutes now. It’s three minutes and twenty-seven seconds later that the unthinkable happens.

 

He hears the sound first.  A deep rumbling, like something born deep within the throat of some gigantic beast, roaring and crackling and rushing closer. Behind the front glass windows of his car he can see the disaster unfold before him and – is that _mud_? Yes, it is, mud, mud and rock and trees and carrying a lot of other debris along with it as it slides down from the slope on the high right and gorges on all the cars and people and poles in its way. The mudslide is so terrifyingly fast; in one sweep telephone lines come snapping and cars disappear beneath the sludge and people are nowhere to be seen.

 

And just like that, it stops.

 

In the next moment, Aomine finds himself in a gathering of survivors, still slightly numb in shock, as one officer reads off a list of missing people in the area where the mudslide struck. At the back of his mind he imagines Takao blathering on and on about punctuality when suddenly the officer says a name that makes his toes feel frostbitten. “I’m sorry, what?” The officer gives him a withering look, but reads over it again anyway. _Mari Stephens, Nat Holladay, Kise Ryouta, Imma—_

 

Something snaps inside of him, and the next thing he knows is he’s ankle-deep in the mud, dropping to his knees, not a care in the world if his suit is already very much ruined. And then he begins to dig, barehanded, clawing madly at the ground until his nails tear and bleed . . . someone tries to pull him up, but he shoots him a curse, and when someone finally hands him a shovel from a distance, he grabs at it and begins shoveling frantically like someone possessed. Just a little bit more, just a little bit, he’s desperate; minutes pass and suddenly the pit he makes just gives and shatters into the window of an upturned car, and _there_ — _Hey_ , he screams, into the car or to the people watching him from a distance, he doesn’t know anymore, because there is a person, there is a person right here, inside the passenger seat. Aomine reaches inside and grabs a fistful of murky blonde hair, heart banging against his ribs, straining up, up, until he feels a cold weight collapse on his lap.

 

 _It’s too late,_ the officer tells him forlornly, hand hesitant on his shoulder. _He’s gone._

 

Aomine stares, disbelieving. He could’ve sworn for just fraction of a second ago, his eyes- his eyes- they were _alive_.

 

They pull him out of the mud, and he staggers away, losing his breakfast on the side of the road.

 

**x**

 

In their next lifetime, their paths find each other in a dingy bar which name they cannot remember. Twenty-one and unemployed, Kise leans back against the counter and lets this nameless brunette slobber all over his neck. _Whoa there, lady,_ he laughs, an empty little sound, when she gives a particularly painful nip. Breathing in the miasma, he observes the people around him and pretends to be having a good time. This girl on his lap, probably around eighteen, is broke and lonely, might’ve been a runaway daughter from a well-off family; things like these he just knows with just a look. Like how that man over there in the dark corner, eyes hooded and cigarette smoldering, might’ve been a returning soldier from Afganistan, or how that woman with the skintight red cocktail dress, laughing way too loud, is pretending that the man across her is actually paying attention to her and not actually eyeing her full rack.

 

It’s a bit depressing really, having this gift, but they’re all just pretenders in the end; beside him, the gangly teenager (who is, quite definitely, very gay) is downing three shots in a row in the hopes of impressing his friends; then four-eyes over there in the far left, hair the color of rotting lettuce, who he knows is nursing his broken pride (and broken heart, too, wobbly fingers and bags under his eyes and all); and behind him, a very tanned lean man – an athlete, those biceps leave no room for doubt – who is briskly turning away to leave this cell, little smile playing on his lips.

 

Kise gets just one glimpse of it, transient as the man disappears in the door, but that’s all it takes. He feels a yank deep in his gut, and he jumps to his feet – never mind if there was a woman trying to get into his pants just seconds ago, cursing him like no tomorrow as she rubs her sore ass – mumbling a halfhearted apology as he weaves his way out. His heart is running a marathon inside his chest, screaming against his ribs and all Kise thinks is _I am crazy, I am batshit crazy, am I really stalking a complete stranger_ and then: _why yes, yes I am._

He’s out in the street, lights and sounds blinding his senses, but somehow he finds the man’s back easily. And when he finally closes in on him and finds him lip locked with a strawberry-blonde bombshell against a lilac mustang he wonders why his fingers are trembling. _What_ , the stranger spits out, finally noticing him. He blinks, swallows, but when he opens his mouth the woman cuts him off. _Kise? Kise-kun, is that you?_

 

 _Momoicchi_. It’s her, one of his closest friends, back in college, and how the hell did he not realize? They exchange surprised hugs, and then she proceeds to introduce him to her fiancé, _Kise-kun, meet Aomine Daiki_ , and well, to say the least that is how their tragedy begins. They decide to meet regularly on weekends, watching movies on Fridays, and along the road they become one big happy family but not, because Kise isn’t supposed to fall in love with Aomine’s laughter is he? Or his smile, or the warmth in his hands, and all the other stupid things he will be forever barred. Kise is the one who brings a drunk Aomine home after one of the couple’s verbal spars, the one who tends to his splintered knuckles and tucks him in his own bed; and later that night, when Aomine presses his lips to his, still very intoxicated and wakes up the day after with a phenomenal hangover, the one who just grins and doesn’t breathe a word. Kise becomes the muse to naming their child – _Ryouta, named after our best friend in the whole wide world!_ – the one who holds Momoi’s left hand when she gives birth to the beautiful blue-eyed boy, the one who takes him out to the park when he turns three. Kise is the one who gives him piggyback rides when his parents go out shopping, and is the one who cradles his little head when they are lost in the belly of coiling flames in a car wreck. And when he watches Ryouta slowly morph into a man and smiles his father’s cocky little smile, it’s Kise that breaks a little, every single time.

 

And the stars at night always seem to be leering at him.

 

**x**

 

Their paths continue forward. Like ripples, they cascade on.

 

In the next life, the next domino that comes toppling along in the line is such a close call their points almost shave each other off.

 

Aomine Daiki is eighteen and cocky and a glass half-full kind of guy, and today he jogs down the street at five in the afternoon with Nirvana screaming in his ears. Down the road, just round the corner, is Kise Ryouta, grinning ear-to-ear with a kind of unbridled joy as he glides down the pavement on his skateboard. Too caught up in the thrill of finally mastering it, he will never notice the other boy reaching the corner and slams face-first into his chest, and they fall into a mess of sweaty, tangled limbs. Kise will hastily apologize, but Aomine will just laugh it off; they will be drawn to each other inexplicably – Aomine to his odd eyes and Kise to his taste in music, but it’s alright, it’s but the beginning anyway. Somehow they will end up in Aomine’s basement, sprawled across the floor eating day-old pizza while Kise dramatizes a _Bleach_ panel on the sofa. Aomine will laugh at him and say _hey, I have a band_ and that’s how they kick it off. Kise will get introduced to a whole cast of other weirdoes like him and get bullied in the long run, but it’s all good fun because every time after band practice Aomine will pull him into one of the rundown trucks of Kuroko’s parents and they make out then and there, to Mozart of all things. And one night after high school and then college and finally their first legit gig, backstage as they bathe in the afterglow of an electrifying performance, Aomine will grab a stuttering megaphone and obnoxiously ask Kise to marry him, much to everyone’s (read: Midorima) chagrin. Akashi will sigh and Murasakibara will munch on an Oreo and Midorima will be dying in the corner from embarrassment and Kuroko will roll his eyes but his smile would be soft – as Kise blinks, grabs the megaphone from Aomine’s hands and screams the big _Yes_ , tears filling his eyes. They will get married on a Friday, the day they met, and maybe adopt a little girl and everything will be all right in the world.

 

But, of course, that’s not what happens.

 

Aomine notices his shoelaces have come undone yet _again_ , and as he bends down to tie it back up, the only opportunity they’ve had in six lifetimes slips right

 

_Damn, I really need a new pair._

 

through

 

_[-ello, hello, how low?]_

 

their

 

 _Whoosh_.

 

fingers.

 

Kise Ryouta zips right past him, just four inches from his skin.

 

Later, he glances back and wonders if he has forgotten something.

 

The world sighs a sigh of relief.

 

**x**

 

They are like ships in a storm, pulled to each other in some kind of mystifying gravity, in a lifeline that binds them together but never allows them even the slightest graze. They push and they pull but it’s a loss because in the end they will find each other, yet again, always in parallel.

 

In this life, it’s the same.

 

Teikou. It’s the name of the school that they are fated to be in, in the same sort of way trees are fated to grow and people are fated to die. Both of them are weaving their way through their second year of middle school, but they are nothing but stark opposites since Aomine is a happy bastard and Kise is just so very lost. Aomine will lead the basketball team from victory to victory and Kise will be flitting around each and every sport but will linger in the tennis field; both will reach the apex of their separate paths and will graduate with their names forever written in stone, but they will only know each other in whispers and remain nothing but ghosts to each other. Once high school starts they will forget each other’s existence. And none of them would ever remember the golden boy of the tennis club or the ace of the basketball team, memories fading into bleak, empty nothingness.

 

But there it is. A miscalculation.

 

One of the new boys on court isn’t supposed to be there, but he swallows his fear and steps up anyway next to this prodigy; when Aomine tosses him the ball a little too hard, a little too fast – the boy misses it, and it comes soaring out into the open air. No, no, this isn’t supposed to be happening; at this rate it’s going to smack right into Kise Ryouta’s gorgeous head. If only he had talked a little longer to the tiny girl twenty seconds ago, or dawdled around the with the fencing team, or stopped to snap a picture of the butterfly sent his way to distract him – but no, Kise ambles on, head in the clouds, completely clueless and not following the plans. Just one step less, just _one—_

But, inexorably, the ball comes sailing down from the sky with a whack.

 

It is not meant to happen.

 

When Kise turns around and follows the grinning boy back into the court, sees the way his body curves gracefully into the air and plunges the ball into the hoop, sweat clinging to him like second skin as he laughs and _laughs_ and Kise feels like somebody has doused him with gasoline and lit him on fire, well – that isn’t in the plan, either.

 

But it’s all right. They are parallels, after all. Nothing to worry about.

 

Because in this life, Aomine Daiki is in love with Kuroko Tetsuya.

 

There is a kind of connection between both of them that Kise can feel, like the kind that all the regulars in Teikou have but different; Kuroko has known Aomine longer, played with him from the very beginning, and the advantage can’t help but make Kise feel jealous, just a little bit. He knows he can’t squeeze himself in the gap between them. It’s all right, he thinks; he comforts himself in the thought that Aomine has given him enough, far, far enough – a breath of life when he really, really needed it. After all Aomine is the first person to treat him like he isn’t a movie star, called him an idiot when he acted like one, and kicked his ass without mercy. He bullies him every single chance he gets and Kise lets him get away with it every time, just because. And after each one-on-one, sweaty and wilting on the ground, when he laughs _idiot, you’ll never beat me,_ and turns to go look for Kuroko, _it’s enough_ , Kise repeats to himself. _It’s enough._

 

It’s never enough.

 

So he watches on the sidelines and tries to give chase (oh, how he does), watching as Aomine glimmers in all his glory and sweeps everyone along with it, toppling them down, undefeated. Watches silently as he takes flight and never ever comes back down.

 

But he does.

 

And there it is. Another miscalculation. Error number two.

 

Kagami is the spark that tips the scale, the wildcard; he comes into their life and stands toe to toe with Aomine, drags him down by the wings and blinds him, toppling him down, undefeated. Kise doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh because finally, _finally_ ; he wanted to be the one to save him but it doesn’t matter anymore, because the Aomine he knows is back and is burning again, and all he wants to do is crush Kuroko and Kagami in his arms and tell them _thank you, god, thank you._

 

It’s awkward when they finally meet again, but Kise supposes there isn’t really any other way around it; the way they last faced each other they weren’t quite on the best of terms, and Aomine can still remember how it felt like plunging into the heart of the pacific seeing that strange, almost alien expression for the first time on Kise’s face. _Hey_ , Aomine says. _Hey_ , Kise replies, not really looking at him. Apparently they are the earliest ones in the reunion of sorts Momoi, Riko, and Kuroko had planned after the Winter Cup in the hopes of ‘bolstering the bonds of friendship’ or whatever the text contained earlier that day. What both of them read, however, was a basketball get-together, simple as that.

 

It’s stiflingly quiet in the Kaijou court, until Aomine rubs the back of his neck and blurts, _wanna one-on-one?_ And well, Kise doesn’t really quite know what say to that but _yeah, okay_ , chest fluttering and all that because it’s the first time Aomine has initiated things like this. They crouch into position, and as usual Aomine gets hold of the ball, twisting to his side, way out of Kise’s reach, and after that it’s all too fast – _whoosh_ , and the ball drops down from the hoop like a raindrop. Aomine gives him a smug look, but he’s not over yet. In between the milliseconds it takes for him to relax his shoulders, Kise strikes back, surges forward and snaps the ball into his chest – way faster than Aomine has ever seen, he’s sure, by the way his jaw widens imperceptibly. _Nice trick_ , he acknowledges, smile glinting, _but that’s not enough._

 

 _Oh but I’m not done_ , Kise promises him. Aomine isn’t the only one that has grown, after all. This move is his own concoction, a blend from all the little movements he’s gathered from rival players; he twists down, bends his knees way lower than usual and shuffles the ball between both hands rapidly. Aomine is confused, but doesn’t show it, eyes on his every twitch like a hawk. Then he fakes left, glances right, then dashes into the tiny space left for him; but Aomine sees it, and he reaches forward—

 

Kise empties all of his momentum as he backpedals smoothly, one, two, three . . . then a jump shot, just right before Aomine realizes—

 

 _Whoosh_.

 

The ball bonks to the ground.

 

 _Holy mother—_ Aomine begins, eyes bright as he turns to him. _Again!_ Kise swallows but does as he’s told. They play on like that for minutes, always evening out the score, and Kise realizes with a start that Aomine is still the same but _not_ , gut sinking with the dawning realizing he is still very, very much in love.

 

When their friends finally arrive, very much late in fact, they find both of them near-collapsed and heaving, with the widest grins they’ve ever seen on their faces. _Told you,_ Kuroko tells them, but the pair just stares at him, puzzled.

 

The next week, the basketball match officially begins, everyone being an hour late before and all (Kise wonders why he feels like it was done on purpose) and today Kagami is just _dying_ to have face off with Aomine again. Riko is straight up, completely forbidding it; with Kagami’s ankle still healing after the Winter Cup championship he cannot afford another death match with a monster like the former Ace of Teikou. It takes another hour and a half to calm him down from a violent fit (courtesy of Kuroko and his fist) and all the while the match plays on, Aomine’s team beating Kise’s by a meager 2 points.

 

And it’s strange, Aomine thinks. He knows Kise has always been sort of annoyingly good-looking, but he’s never actually paid much attention to it before. When he’s guarding the ball on his right and the golden boy just steps right into his face his body freezes up, just for a second, but that’s all it takes for him to sweep the ball away, grinning, _got you, Aominecchi!_ right into his mouth, and he sort of stands there, blinking, as Kise dunks the ball right under his nose.

 

Not only that, but there all sorts of things that he begins to notice too, things that just sort of randomly pop up. Like how Kise’s eyes are the only things you need to look at if you want to know what he’s feeling; or like how his hands are the only rough part of his skin, or how, when in the right light, Kise’s hair glows so bright it is actually, quite in fact, gold. And how his love of the game is second to none, and how he is strong and is never afraid to show his emotions, and- and- hundreds more. Months pass, and before he knows it, a year has gone; there are even more friendly basketball get-togethers, which means more of _Kise_ , and every day makes him feel even more confused that he just pushes it back into the dusty shelves of his head.

 

After a game one day, after everyone has long gone home, Aomine dries his hair in the showers and feels someone’s eyes boring into his back. _Tetsu_ , he says, turning around, because who else could creep up on him like that?

 

There is something strange in Kuroko’s eyes as he steps closer. _Aomine-kun,_ he says, the edges of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. _Wanna walk home together?_

 

 _Sure, whatever,_ Aomine shrugs and they fall into a steady step in the sidewalk. Kuroko makes small talk about Kagami’s ankle and Riko’s new fitness diet and Takao’s cousin and Aomine listens to him distantly; suddenly, however, Kuroko’s mouth forms into one of his ghostly smiles and he says, _hey, do you remember back when we were fourteen?_ Aomine frowns at him. _What about it?_

 

 _When you had a crush on me,_ Kuroko says, face straight but his eyes are definitely teasing, no doubt about it. Aomine splutters about and glares at him, but regains his composure immediately. _What the hell? Why would you—_

 

 _You did, didn’t you,_ Kuroko says, like it’s the funniest thing ever. _Just saying._ Then he looks at Aomine, eyes soft with joy. _You’ve changed, Aomine-kun._

 

They walk on like that, in the chorus of the night, quiet. Then, Aomine smirks, _Aw, but you know I still love you Tetsu._ And Kuroko’s eyes narrow, just like that.

 

 _Really?_ he says, voice unnaturally serious all of a sudden. He stops walking and drives his eyes directly into his.

 

Aomine sneers, and says, jokingly, _really_ , and it’s when Kuroko rises up on his toes and plants a kiss on his lips that the sneer is completely wiped from his face.

 

 _Really?_ Kuroko repeats, slowly, firmly. A knowing little smile hides itself in the corner of his lips. And then he saunters off in the opposite direction, leaving Aomine absolutely bewildered on the pavement.

 

Behind him the crescent moon is laughing.

 

After a couple of days Aomine thinks it’s safe to come out again into the light and face Kuroko and rest of the world. He nods at Hyuuga as he enters the court on the usual practice game on Saturday, exchanges insults with Kagami and completely ignores Kuroko’s existence over by the bench. And Kise too, but he doesn’t bother to wonder why.

 

And then they’re playing again, the game he loves; Kise has been trying to catch his eyes throughout the match, but Aomine just glazes right over him, until finally once it ends in a tie at half time, Aomine finds himself cornered in the changing rooms, Kise standing half-naked over him.

 

 _Aominecchi,_ he says, voice grave. _I need to talk to you._

 

But Aomine’s gut churns uncomfortably as he bends over his shoes, tying the laces with hands that are starting to sweat. _Later_ , he says, _game’s about to start_.

 

_It’s important-_

 

 _Later, Kise,_ he says, tone rising. The air is clouding, he needs to breathe. _Can’t it wait?_

 

_No, it can’t-_

 

Aomine cuts him off: _God, we have all the time in the world and we can talk about anything to your heart’s content_ after _the game, so just wait al—_

_I have,_ Kise explodes, and Aomine’s eyes widen with a start. _I have been waiting— for a long time, Aominecchi, don’t tell me to do something you have no idea about. I keep trying and trying and trying to catch you but you’re just – you never see!_ Kise’s eyes are angry yellow welts; his chest heaves. _And I’m tired. I’m so tired, Aominecchi._

The air is a solid weight now, clogging up Aomine’s throat and lungs.

 

 _Five years_ , Kise smiles sadly. _That’s how long. Guess I reached the point when there wasn’t anything to lose anymore, you know? Thought maybe, I could get you to realize something that I did. But you never seemed to be really listening._

He stares. In his chest he can feel his heart is trying to pry his ribcage open.

 

Kise soldiers on, eyes burning. He takes a breath: _I-_

 

And Aomine’s mouth goes dry.

 

When Kise repeats the words to him with the same ferocity, steps closer, closer, _too close_ —and melds their mouths together, _Jesus, why is everyone kissing me these days_ , echoes at the back of his mind then fades, because Kise Ryouta is _kissing_ him; it’s like a switch inside of him is flipped, and Aomine shoves him away by the shoulders, doesn’t know why he is so suddenly terrified but overcome still by need to get out, get _out_ —

 

A glimpse of Kise fracturing is the last thing he sees before he stomps back into the court and away, Kuroko and Kagami’s shouts rolling of his back.

 

Back on his bed, digits of his clock smoldering an angry red in the darkness, he tries not to think.

 

**x**

 

Four days later, shirt riding up to his ribs, Aomine wakes up sprawled on his back to his phone beeping obnoxiously in his ears.

 

**From: Kagami**

**[8:33 AM, Sunday]**

 

bet i can kick your ass today.

 

**From: Kagami**

**[8:34 AM, Sunday]**

 

get your lazy ass here. seirin obviously you dumbfcuk. gates are unlocked.

 

He can’t help the smile that tugs up the edges of his lips. Now _that_ is a distraction.

 

He walks inside the court, the squeak of his shoes echoing across the room. Kagami is ready for him, shimmying up a dunk, nice and loud and excessively forceful like everything the man is.

 

“About time,” Kagami grunts, trapping the ball between both palms.

 

“Hello, Aomine-kun.”

 

Aomine stops dead in his tracks.

 

“Why the _hell_ is Tetsu here?”

 

“Seems you aren’t happy to see me,” Kuroko states simply, rising like a phantom to his feet from where he’d been stretching on the floor.

 

“Just leave my alone, why don’t you,” Aomine swivels around angrily. “I’m leaving.”

 

“Aomine-kun,” his ex-partner says, low and abrupt, pinning him on the spot. When he turns around Kuroko’s face is smooth and flat and devoid of any kind of emotion, which has always been a Bad Thing, because it meant that the boy was reigning in his all his raging emotions – and in this case he is pretty sure it isn’t happiness, either. “Are you going to run away again?”

 

Somehow that feels like a whiplash inside his chest. “I’m not fucking running away,” he snaps, rooting his feet on the ground. Kuroko’s mouth twitches, and then he realizes the trap.

 

Aomine shoots a burning glare Kagami’s way, who just shrugs and mouths, _sorry man_ , and takes that as his cue to quietly slink out of the court.

 

“You know I hate you,” he tells the smaller man, who is walking towards him, eerily slow; when he closes the distance Aomine barely has any time to react when he snaps his arm back and drives his fist across his face and _fuck_ , for a small man, that really, really—

 

“-hurts! What the _fuck_ was that for Tetsu?” Aomine explodes, clutching his throbbing cheek.

 

“I thought you’d finally grown up, Aomine-kun. Thought you’d changed, thought that, maybe, for the first time, you’d prove me – all of us – wrong,” Kuroko tells him, livid and absolutely shaking, eyes seething. “I thought this time, maybe finally you’d understand. I guess I was wrong. You never did understand.”

 

Aomine’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? Like when you walked me home and fucking dropped a kiss on me?”

 

“I did it to prove a point!”

 

“ _What_ point? That you’re a horrible kisser?”

 

Kuroko wants to tear out his hair. “Was I not clear enough? Tell me Aomine-kun, when I kissed you, did you feel anything?”

 

And he pauses. The words are born in his throat and die in his tongue. He returns Kuroko’s stare, and somehow, inevitably the gears of his mind begins turning; shifting, back into freezing asphalt and giggling stars and pale lips he’s always, always wanted soft against his own but the fit not quite right and—

 

He swallows.

 

“No.”

 

Kuroko’s face smoothens. He reaches down and scoops the basketball on the floor with both hands, taps his fingers against it thoughtfully. “When we were partners, I realized something about you, you know. You were so amazing, Aomine-kun. There was something different about you. You loved the world and the world loved you, but I guess somewhere along the road it had let you down and you just stopped caring.”

 

“Tetsu,” Aomine warns under his breath, but it’s empty, just air.

 

Kuroko continues, unfazed. “You’re passionate, and you’re stupid, but most of all you’re afraid. You’re afraid of yourself, and you’re afraid of losing, and somewhere deep down I think you’re afraid that if you give a little, it just wouldn’t be worth it. So when something really amazing comes your way, it’s just sort of there – and then you take it for granted. Because you’re afraid. And dense. That too.”

 

 “What are you even going on about—“

 

“Tell me, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko says in a heartbeat. “do you believe in fate?”

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Aomine groans, dragging a palm down his face. “Please tell me we are not having this conversation.”

 

But Kuroko just stares at him, unperturbed. “Well? Because I do. I believe there are some things that are just meant to happen.” The ball drops to the floor and recoils back up, one, two. “But then, sometimes, there are some things you have to make with your own hands. That’s what Kagami-kun taught me, I guess,” and there’s a little smile there, radiant in his eyes. It’s barely a second before the fire is back, blistering in full force. “And to answer what you said before, no, I am _not_ going to leave you alone, because I will not let you rot in your cave and waste away your life in some stupid way of thinking you made up in your stupid head! Don’t lie to yourself; no one can survive all alone, Aomine-kun. So please - stop pushing away the people who care about you!”

 

The ball slices through the air as Kuroko passes it to him; Expectedly, it lands feather-light in Aomine’s palms.

 

Then, softer, he says: “Don’t let the things you want slip away when it’s right there. Like it’s always been.”

 

The ridges along the ball’s skin are coarse against his fingers. Outside the sky flushes a deep, mottled red.

 

“See you, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko’s voice fades from his ears, along with light squeaking of his shoes. “I hope you think about it.”

 

For another stretch of minutes Aomine just stands there, staring at the nothing.

 

Then, in the center of the court, he lets the ball drop from his fingers, turns around, trudges home, and for the first time in a long time - begins to really, really think.

 

**x**

 

 

It’s been approximately thirteen days. Aomine is still nowhere to be seen.

 

“Don’t worry,” Kuroko tells his friends, a small glint in his eyes. “He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

 

And Kuroko, who has always been in tune to the motion of the universe around him, who has always been the one to defy the odds, no matter how great – well, it’s safe to say that they decide to trust him.

 

But Momoi Satsuki has never been the patient one.

 

Three days and nine hours later, she stomps up the steps to her best friend’s house and barges in without knocking, expecting to see him still snoring beneath unwashed sheets. What she doesn’t expect, however, is to find him groaning with his back on the floor where she ran over him, in a suit and tie, no less.

 

It’s far enough for surprise.

 

After all the apologies and the frantic worrying that lasts up to eight minutes, Aomine finally manages to pry her grasping hands off and seal her endless blathering by spilling the beans.

 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Momoi gasps, hands coming up to cover her mouth. “If you screw this up, I swear Dai-chan—“

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, whatever,” Aomine groans tiredly.

 

“Oh my god,” Momoi repeats like a mantra. Tears filling her eyes, she tackles Aomine full on, and he lets her. “My boys- my boys are all growing up, oh my god. My stupid babies, finally—”

 

“Women,” he rolls his eyes and sighs, smile soft.

 

**x**

 

When Aomine finally arrives at his destination, all that goes through his head is, _oh hell, I didn’t expect it to be this hard._

 

He stares at the wooden door before him and wills his arms, his toes, _anything_ \- to move. But he just stands there, immobile, sweating profusely through fine cloth of his suit.

 

He yanks in a breath. Five seconds. Ten. A minute goes by.

 

 _Fuck it_ , he decides, and raps on the door.

 

It’s barely a moment before the doors flings open and reveals Kise wearing a horridly green apron and brandishing a wooden spoon on his left.

 

“Aominecchi,” Kise says after a pause. His eyes are wide, the smile he had on just seconds ago is nothing but a memory now. Somehow the way he grips the spoon looks like how one would a knife, and Aomine swallows, dry. Kise steps back and allows the door to creak open further. “You can come in, if you wanna.”

 

“Well I—“ I actually was going to ask you out for a fancy dinner but you’re wearing a freaking apron, so that must mean—“Are you cooking?”

 

Kise eyes him down. “Yeah,” he says, strangely guarded, strangely tight. “Curry.”

 

Well, this is awkward. Aomine has never really thought of this possibility. Now all that effort of sucking up his pride and loaning Kagami’s suit has all gone to waste. Dammit, he should’ve called first.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

Kise gives him a pointed look, and leans in even further behind the door.

 

Aomine steps inside and emerges into the bright orange light of Kise’s house. Unsurprisingly, it’s as messy as his own. There are fashion magazines littered across the floor and curving all the way into the bedroom on the left like some kind of animal shedding; there’s a quaint sofa set on his right, and in the center is a hybrid room of sorts – the kitchen, the dining area, and the study, all pushed in together.

 

On the study table there is a bowl of pens, even more magazines, a laptop with headphones, and – here Aomine’s gut drops like a cold rock – an oval frame with a photograph of the both of them, way back in Teikou, arms haphazardly thrown over each other, smiles contagious and so very, very bright.

 

He tears his eyes away and tries to ignore the rushing in his ears.

 

“Sorry for the mess,” Kise is saying, brushing past him into the kitchen. “I just finished cooking, actually. Come join- you can come join me, if you’d like.”

 

Immediately, Aomine notices the slip – it is so unlike the model to stumble over his words, or speak in such a passive manner. He ignores this too, and settles into one of the chairs as Kise brings out their dinner. “Yeah, okay.”

 

As they begin to eat, Kise asks the dreaded question: “So. What’s with the get-up?”

 

Aomine forces a chunk of barely-chewed potato down his esophagus. “S’nothing,” he says, and he doesn’t know why, except that his stomach’s doing that clenching thing again.

 

“Really?” Kise’s eyes are watching him across his plate, so very near but so out of his reach.

 

“Really.”

 

Somehow it feels like he’s had this conversation before; _you’re afraid,_ Kuroko tells him, sad, but brazen.

 

He swallows another bite.

 

“I can open the TV, if you wanna watch,” Kise offers him after a while. “There’s an interview of Utada Hikaru around now. Or we can watch the finals.”

 

“Nah, I’m cool.”

 

“Coke?”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

Silence. They continue with their curry.

 

After about five minutes Kise starts again. “There’s some chocolate ice cream in the fridge. If you want some after.”

 

Aomine blinks. Kise is feeling his way through this, wary, and it is so unlike him. “Eh, I’ll pass.”

 

It’s the last time Kise speaks in a very long time.

 

Silence. Again. They are just halfway through their dinner and Aomine’s heart is still wedged in his throat. Now that Kise has kept quiet the air feels like a solid thing weighing him down. He keeps shoveling food into his mouth even after long being full, for a lack of any better thing to do. Outside the night blankets over the roof and tries to smother them.

 

All the while Kise sits chewing noiselessly on the other side. Waiting.

 

Before long, a whole hour has passed, and Aomine has not uttered a single word.

 

There is suddenly a hard clink as Kise sets down his fork on his plate and sighs wearily, shattering the stillness:

 

“Why are you here, Aomine?”

 

He looks him in the eye, and Aomine is stunned by all he finds there – a bit of sadness, a bit of longing, a bit of everything Kise is and always has been. And he can’t speak.

 

_You can come in, if you wanna._

_You can come join me, if you’d like._

 

Kise is waiting for his answer, fingers growing white around his fork.

 

The words die and are born in an endless cycle on his tongue.

 

Kise waits.

 

Aomine Daiki sits there on his seat, plate half-empty, food cold. His tie is like a vice around his neck.

 

He doesn’t speak.

 

“Of course,” Kise says, almost a whisper as he unravels and breaks just across the table, a bitter smile ghosting on his face. Slowly, he rises from his seat. “I’ll be in my room. Just lock the door when you leave.”

 

_You can come join me, if you’d like._

_Why are you here, Aomine?_

_What do you want?_

 

“You.”

 

Kise pauses and turns around to face him. “What?”

 

“You,” Aomine repeats, and it’s like breaking the water’s surface to come up for air, and he doesn’t know why it feels so familiar. He is shaking, and he is so angry, and he thinks: _I’m done with running._

 

“I lied,” he continues. “I wore the suit because I wanted us to have dinner at this barbeque place near Kaijou. I wanted to impress you but I lied, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Kise is staring at him now, eyes wide.

 

“And I’m here because- ‘cause I wanted to tell you that I get it now. I do. And- and- I think maybe I can… love you back, this time around. Because I do. I’m through with hiding. And maybe we could, I don’t know, do this thing all over again, if, you know. If you’d have me- _fuck_ I’m really not good at this stuff,” Aomine babbles, chest pulled tight to bursting. “Dammit, I’m sorry.”

 

There. He’s done it. It’s everything, all right.

 

He hopes it’s enough.

 

He hopes it’s not too late.

 

Aomine stares at his plate, nails digging into his thighs.

 

And then Kise begins to laugh. “God, really?” it’s full of air and light, and Aomine lifts his head to stare at him. “After, what, five years? Took you that long to notice me? Wow. You really _are_ dense, Aominecchi.” But then he notices the tears filling his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. “Dammit, this is embarrassing,” he chokes, laughing lightly as he hastily wipes his eyes with the back of his hands.

 

“I’m sorry,” Aomine says, drawing closer.

 

“Took you long enough,” Kise tells him.

 

Aomine knocks his own head. “Dense, remember? Even Tetsu said so—“ and he takes Kise’s damp face in his hands kisses him beneath a moon that is nothing but a cold, lonely rock suspended in space, and stars that are all but burning gas, thousands and thousands of light years away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from my tumblr account in all its angsty, sappy glory (oops)


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